Superhero
by Indigo2831
Summary: Danny regards Steve McGarrett as a real life superhero.  Turns out he might be one too, but at what price?  Danger, angst and friendship abounds.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! This is my first story in this fandom and I'm a bit nervous about posting it. The funny thing is I started loving the show from reading the fan fiction from some of my favorite SPN authors and not the other way around. I think I got it backwards, but I'm a fan nonetheless. I love both Steve and Danny, and I'm not sure I have a favorite right now. This story does focus on Danno a tad bit more than Steve, but I already have another Steve-centric story planned.

DISCLAIMER: I know very little about cop procedures or lingo. The little I do know is from watching cop shows, and we all know how accurate those are, lol.

Reviews are love.

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><p><strong>Superhero<strong>

Detective Danny Williams didn't believe in superheroes. Even when he was a kid, he couldn't stretch his imagination that the spandex-clad, caped crusaders were anything other than unstable goofs with authority issues and death wishes. Danny clipped his badge to his belt and holstered his gun. He grabbed the towering stack of case files and headed out of his tiny apartment.

The longer he was a cop, the less he believed in real heroes.

And then he met Steve McGarrett, former Navy SEAL, master of every weapon and mode of transportation ever made, record-holding free-diver and certified adrenaline junkie, and Danny found himself subscribing to the idea of super human abilities and the greater good.

He might have ranted about McGarrett's unwaveringly stupid obsession of the hunt and the capture and how he ninja-jumped all over the constitution and due process, but secretly he imagined Steven sneaking out of the Five-0 headquarters in camouflage spandex to save damsels and thwart evildoers. Danny chuckled at the image as he ventured down the beach in the lavender twilight of early morning. As much as he cursed Hawaii, New Jersey had nothing on its sunrises. He would never utter it out loud, not even under the bloodiest of torture, but it was true. He stood by the beach, sipping his coffee and waiting as the water rolled in, frothy and warm. As predicted Steve emerged from the waves like Aquaman, and waded into the beach with more energy than anyone had a right to have at five o'clock in the morning.

Steve grinned and jogged over to Danny, greeting him over the rush of the surf. "Never thought I'd see you in the sand this early, _brah_. Why are ya know, here so early?"

Danny sipped his coffee. "Haven't been to bed. Spent the night with my favorite lady."

Steve toweled off his chest and arms and together they headed into his house. "Finally, you got some, I was starting to get worried."

Danny grimaced and allowed the disgust flash across his face. "Steven," he said calmly, "how long have I been your partner? How do you not know who I'm referring to? Between your armed shenanigans, my ex-wife, I barely have time to shave let alone allocate the time to properly entertain that of the fairer sex. So who do you think I was talking about?"

"Grace."

"GRACE! Thank you."

Steve grinned. It was mischievous and deadly, and Danny groaned as he knew it would be a painfully long day. Steve had some kind of emotional cycle, like PMS, and every twenty-eight days, he nearly annoyed Danny back to New Jersey.

"You let Grace stay up all night? What kind of father are you?"

And so it began. "A tired one. She had nightmares last night and refused to go back to sleep and then begged for her mom until I caved. God, I can't wait until she understands the value of money and I can bribe her. After a lovely and not at all aggravating four a.m. drive, I couldn't go back to sleep, so I figured we could work on these case files and just lay low today unless we get called in."

Steven rooted around in his fridge and came out with fillets of fish and a handful of eggs. "She had nightmares?"

Danny heard the veiled concern in his voice and was touched. "It happens sometimes. When she was younger, she'd get like full-on terrors. Screaming and thrashing around like that punk you throat-punched last week—I'm not judging by the way; he deserved it—and then she'd wake up and wouldn't remember a thing. Rachel and I would think she was seizing or possessed or something but she'd want to play."

Steve cracked the eggs in one skillet and added the fish in another. "Kids are weird."

"Thank you for that stunning insight. Yes, kid are weird. Especially mine. But parenthood is the most bizarre thing in the world, even for you, G.I. Joe." Danny drummed his hands the counter. "So what about you? Are you actually capable of sleep or do you swim with the other SEALs during the night?"

Steve plated his eggs and poked at the sizzling fish. His face was neutral, but he shrugged and focused on his breakfast. "I sleep."

"I know the truth about your mom's death was the suckerpunch no one saw coming. If you want to talk…"

"I can call you any time. I know, Danno."

Danny laughed again and shook his head. "I was actually going to refer you to a good shrink, but yeah, that works too."

Steve grabbed plates from the drip-dry rack and plated up the over-easy eggs and fish. "Breakfast."

Danny looked at the odd combination of foods, and couldn't resist. "I hate to break it to you, Steve, but this isn't breakfast, unless you know, you're a cat or a fishmonger. Bagels, bacon, Cap'n Crunch, a little 'leggo my eggo'…that's breakfast. Good God, man, what did the Navy do to you?"

-o-

Danny always liked plans. As a cop, it was good for their days to have a predictable ebb and flow. Since he joined Five-0, plans had been obliterated along with standard procedure and Miranda rights, but he didn't mind as much as he thought he would, because they were filling prisons with evil people that would have otherwise slipped through the widening cracks of the justice system and the island, Grace's home, was safer for it.

But Danny wasn't complaining when he spent the morning completing case files with Kono and playing desk chair hockey with his co-workers, brooms and a coke can. Chin Ho had just deflected Steve's wicked shot into their milk crate goal when the phone rang. Steve pushed off and snatched the phone. He braced his foot against the ground to jot down a few details and bid the governor goodbye.

"Snagged a case. Well, at least boring groundwork for a case. This is right up your alley, Danny. The Governor wants us to bring in the wife…well ex-wife…of a drug smuggler. He made some pretty nasty threats as he was being dragged off to prison fifteen years ago. Chin Ho and Kono stay put, learn the file and call the warden at Hawaii State Penn. I want his prison records ASAP."

Kono twirled in her wheeled desk chair. "Why would we have to pick up the ex-wife?"

Steve moved over to the smart computer's console and brought up the thugs wrap-sheet onto the flatscreens with a fleck of the wrist, so the group was staring into the menacing eyes of Brody Monroe. "Because the ex-husband just got released."

-5-0-

"This guy is the worst kind of criminal, the scum of the earth. You know, I hope he falls off an inch so we can lower him into a volcano by his danglers, why should the sharks have all the fun." Danny ranted.

Steve shook his head and turned off the radio. "Share with the class, Daniel."

"Only my mom can get away with calling me Daniel, Steven. Listen to this: Monroe used the family dream home as a warehouse for meth and cocaine for some pretty nasty drug dealers. When his wife found out, he beat her to a pulp and locked her and their four-year-old son in the basement for two days. Her assistant came by to check on her, saw her car in the driveway and blood splatters on the wall and called the cops. Dad got popped on a litany of drug charges and when he was sentenced, he bit a baliff and was hogtied and dragged from the courtroom detailing how he'd murder his soon-to-be ex-wife. Douchebag got out thirty hours ago—the fact that he even got paroled makes me question my belief in the whole process—and hasn't checked in with his P.O."

"So he's off the grid after fifteen years of raging at the people who turned him in. If I'm a spineless wife-beater, I'm planning revenge," Steve estimated. "We need to get the wife before he does."

The urgency increased a few notches, but they had handled worse. Once they picked up the wife, Danny would enjoy tracking this loser down.

The former Mrs. Brody Monroe worked in an upscale office building that went out of its way not to look like the place where college graduates came to die with its exposed brick and industrial tubing, open spaces, gaming lounges and graffiti-style artwork. Julia Monroe was now Vice President of Marketing and was probably pacing in her glass-encased office that overlooked the air atrium with studded with towering palm trees and exotic flowers. Steve flashed his badge to the receptionist, who seemed overjoyed that the former SEAL with the boyish good looks and huge biceps appeared to spice up her boring day.

She smiled, eyes flickering to Steven's wedding-band-free left hand, and grinned even brighter. "How may I help you…Officer?"

Danny leaned in. "He's a Lieutenant Commander, actually. You should see him in his uniform with all the medals. It's very impressive; very _Officer and a Gentleman_."

Her eyes actually sparkled and Danny could almost see visions of white chiffon and wedding cake toppers in dancing in her head. "I'm so sorry, Commander, then."

"Don't worry about it. Is Julia Monroe available? We just need to talk to her for a few minutes."

"FYI she changed her name when she re-married; it's Julia Witherspoon now." Sera consulted her double-monitors and clicked with purpose. "I'm sorry she's in meetings all day. She really doesn't like to be interrupted."

Danny flashed his badge again. "We really need to speak to her, Sera. Please."

Before Sera could respond, her console droned shrilly. She glanced down at the phone system and snatched her earpiece, slipping it in again. "Give me a minute. This almost never happens."

She typed on her computer and leaned over the console. Danny arched over the counter and saw that an emergency light was flashing big and blue and nearly all of the lines were lit up. One of the computer monitors flashed "911."

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

Sera shook her head in disbelief. "People usually dial 911 accidentally, but it seems like we have six calls and counting."

Danny always felt a short-lived surge of pure panic before he dove into life-or-death situations; it was human nature, after all. The longer he was a cop, the shorter the rush. His fingers tingled as he unholstered his gun. Steve had called dispatch and was informed of the complaints they were receiving about the building. He pocketed his iPhone, eyes crackling with the same adrenaline that had now abolished Danny's natural fear. "Dispatch says they're receiving calls about a man with a gun roaming the halls. He's trying to get to the fourth floor."

Sera gasped, her face draining to a milky white.

Danny shook his head in confusion. "What's on the fourth floor?"

"Executive offices, tech support, and…oh God, the daycare."

Steve cursed in what sounded like mandarin.

Steve was already running, checking the sidelines and looking at the map of the building mounted on the wall. Danny moved behind the counter and physically pulled Sera out of her chair. "Get out of the building right now."

"But the kids…"

"We'll get him in time. When the police get here, they're going to lock it down. That means no one in or out. You need to leave right now."

People never stopped surprising Danny. In the face of violence and the ugliest things humans could do to each other, Sera shook her head, and for a second refused to leave. Danny pushed her towards the exit. "That guy is the best bet of saving those kids. He's a freakin' Navy SEAL. When the police get here, tell them Five-0 is already on the scene and we'll need back-up. I need you to do this."

Danny watched her go, gripped his gun tight, and covered Steve's six, ready to save lives.

-5-0-

Steve was in his element, doing what he was trained to do, pursuing the deadly and the depraved. He felt almost super-human as they approached through artificially lit corridors and waved between the desks. He let decade of combat training take over, blocking extraneous thought and letting instinct and muscle memory take over.

They moved hot and fast up the stairs. Each floor was a long expanse of space divided in half by banks of elevators and a break room on both sides. There were copious hiding places available, but men who marched into an office building with a gun and fifteen years worth of rage wouldn't cower under a desk.

All of the calls had come from the third floor, so they started there, while security helped to manage the other floors. It was conspicuously quiet with the scent of gunpowder lingering in the air. Ten feet down the hall, Steve nearly tripped over three lifeless bodies crumpled in the threshold of the bathroom, where they'd probably tried to enter to hide. He checked them quickly, but they were all dead. Notebooks, pens and even laptops littered the carpeted floors, phone dangled off their hooks, chairs were knocked over and stood stagnant in the halls. Blood and bullet holes marred the muraled walls. Steve passed a conference room filled with terrified workers crouched on the floor who pointed down towards the bank of elevators.

Danny opened the door and led the dozen or so people down the stairs. He closed the door silently, and returned to his position.

He motioned to Danny to move around in the other side of the building, so they could cover both sides and box him in. It still amazed him that he and Danny could communicate with few gestures and a flicker of the eyes even though they came from vastly different calibers of law enforcement. Steve ducked behind a pillar to give him time to get into position.

His hearing and vision sharpened and he heard a soft whimper loud in his ears. Moving with practiced precision, he stepped two feet down the aisle, ducking behind a printer and pointing his gun at beneath a shadowy desk. The woman beneath it covered her mouth to muffle a scream and trembled harder, retreating into her hiding spot. Steve didn't dare relinquish his gun, but pointed to his badge hanging from his neck, then held a finger to his lips.

"Did you see him?" He whispered.

She nodded, stricken, tears on her face.

"Is he alone?"

She nodded again.

"Do you know what he's wearing?"

"…b-black…" There was grey matter staining her silk shirt.

"Mask?" Steve glanced around and saw the lower legs and dress slacks of a man on the floor just beyond a filing cabinet and another by the window.

She wobbled her head in the negative.

The severity of the situation intensified. Monroe didn't plan on being caught.

"Come with me." He pulled her out from under the desk and pressed his finger to his lips again.

Grabbing the woman by one shoulder, he gingerly guided her back in the direction they'd came while keeping his sights aimed towards the opposition direction. Once they reached the stairs, he pushed her through the door. He could hear the scuffle of feet and harsh breaths from the other evacuees. "Go down the stairs and out the nearest door. Follow the others."

Once she was gone, Steve treaded carefully through the office, finger on the trigger. He didn't like killing, but he would gladly do so before Monroe could harm anyone else. He understood grief more than most and had a renewed and intense dedication to preventing others from experience such loss.

A gunshot shattered the thunderous silence. Steve sprinted through a vibrant break room, pausing to listen behind a half wall. Gunfire shattered glass with beautiful twinkle. Drawing in a breath, he chanced a glimpse down the hall.

Monroe, clad in black jeans and a black wifebeater, stalked with lethal swagger towards the elevator. He had a rifle strapped to his back and a glock in his hands. "I see you, _haole_!"

Steve immediately fired twice, not hitting Monroe, but halting his process. Monroe, with his angular pock-mocked face, barely flinched and returned fire with more recklessness than expertise. Steven dove for the protection of the brick wall and cabinets as five shots crunched into the wall over his head, launching dust and plaster into the air.

Two more shots echoed in the distance than the ones before it. Danny.

Steve crawled out on his belly and peered out, then ran from the break room to another row of drafting table. He pushed it over on its end and crouched behind the meager cover of melamine.

Monroe inched toward the elevator, blocking a clear shot with a poorly placed sculpture.

Danny burst from a conference room and fired before disappearing again. One of Danny's bullets thudded fleshily into his arm and he staggered backwards. The other whizzed past Steve's head.

For Steve, horrifying things didn't happen in slow motion like they did in the movies. Men were cut down in the infinitesimal breadth between heartbeats. His mother had been there for Steve's entire life and then with a ring of a doorbell, she was gone. His father had died with a pop of noise and the drone of a dialtone.

So when Danny was shot three times at center mass, and rocked backwards, face blank with shock and pain, through the broken window, it happened faster than Steve could comprehend, especially when Danny kept shooting as he pitched over the too-low sill. Danny's bullets hit Monroe in the gut and the neck. He doubled over with a wheeze and a spurt of blood.

Steve finished him off with a messy headshot. He sprinted over to the dead gunman and retrieved his firearms, moving to tuck the glock in the pocket of his bulletproof vest.

Except they weren't wearing vests.

This was supposed to be a pre-emptive strike to prevent violence and death, and yet it had unraveled into chaos and carnage faster than either of them had anticipated.

An intense, nauseating panic overwhelmed him the way it hadn't in the months since his father's death. Danny had taken three shots. _Without a vest_. And he'd plummeted to the pavement three floors down. Danny Williams, his partner and friend, was most assuredly dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh wow! I was not expecting that kind of response from the first chapter of the story. Thank you so much for all of the reviews and alerts and favorites! The story continues. I think there is only one more part. I will warn you that my niece is coming tomorrow and while I will keep writing, I will be speanding a lot of time with my hyper nine-year-old who loves her Auntie.

I'm really excited about this part. I get into Steve's head a little more and go places I originally hadn't planned in the beginning. Please let me know what you think!

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><p><strong>Superhero - Chapter 2<strong>

With a storm of thunderous rage, Steven cried out, ramming his fists into the blood-splattered elevator doors as monstrous grief greeted him again with a treacherous smile.

Steve thought of Grace and how she'd have to grow up with only evaporating memories of her father like he had of his mother.

He didn't want to be there, and had a beautiful image of getting on the elevator, taking Danny's car and driving to his favorite stretch of beach. Except Steve was a soldier, and he wouldn't leave Danny until the coroner arrived. It all felt surreal as he stepped over Monroe's corpse and the swelling puddle of blood and traipsed to the window where Danny had fallen, needing to see it. Closing his eyes, he braced himself on the windowsill unable to look down, because his last memory of Danny would be, not of his slicked back New Jersey hair or his ridiculous rants about leis and pineapple, but of his mangled, broken, bullet-riddled body.

Steve had too many memories of his brothers-in-arms dying grotesquely.

It took all the strength he had to open his eyes and face reality. He found himself staring at the gray grid-work of a scaffolding. Steve touched the sun-warmed metal as if it was a mirage. His heart hammered in a painful cadence as he realized what it meant for Danny. With impossibly renewed hope, he glanced down and spotted Danny's smaller form about ten feet down in a limp sprawl, unconscious. Dumbfounded, Steve flung himself out of the window and landed in a bone-jarring crouch that rattled the entire scaffolding. Steve didn't care about anything but his partner.

There was blood. It pooled lazily under Danny's head, back and torso. It took Steve precious minutes to realize that it wasn't enough, that it wasn't flowing from the three bullet holes in Danny's shirt.

He immediately thought of sucking chest wounds and how some thoracic gunshots bled inside the chest cavity, because there just wasn't enough blood. With shaking hands, Steve pressed his fingers to Danny's stubbled throat. He didn't find a pulse. Idly, he noticed that Danny was still clutching his gun.

Steve shook out his trembling, cold hands and tried again, pressing harder into the base of Danny throat. There. He found an erratic, weak pulse. For now, it was more than enough.

With mounting hope, he loosened Danny's tie, flipped it over his shoulder and ripped open his shirt, preparing to staunch the bleeding of gaping bullet holes or fissuring blood.

Instead he found three mushroomed bullets melted into the black ballistic vest that had been concealed under his shirt. It inexplicably was emblazoned with glittering swirl stickers and little hearts.

Steve's heart and mind slammed to a stop of white static and dizzying relief. He touched the vest with reverence and befuddling disbelief.

Danny's entire body bucked as he slammed into consciousness with a gurgling, rattling breath. Steve felt like laughing as Danny surfaced. He snatched the gun from Danny's grasp and held him by the shoulders to keep him as still as possible while he writhed with the pain, choking on both the need to breathe and the sheer agony of doing so. Vests could impede bullets and prevent lethal wounds, but the sheer force could still cause serious injury. Instinct overrode terror as Steven gently, but deftly, unstrapped the vest from the shoulders and sides and shimmied it off, easing the pressure on his chest. It also allowed Steve to see Danny's chest, muscles rigid and tight, diaphragm spasming, purple hematomas already forming. He could see the impact from the bullets at Danny's heart, his left pectoral and just below his ribcage on the right side. Without a vest, even one of those wounds could kill.

His body was still fighting the pain, feet scrabbled against the weathered wood of the scaffolding, hands balls into fists. Sweat beaded and dripped from his ashen forehead and his neck was flushed crimson as he barely breathed.

Steve hovered over him. "Danny, I know it sucks, but you gotta breathe for me, man."

Danny's mouth opened against closed like a dying fish, but he latched on to Steve's shirt, twisting it with unexpected strength. "Breathe, Danny, please. Don't make me do it for you."

His back arched and finally he drew in a shaky breath as tears licked out of the corners of his eyes. "Good. That's good, keep going."

Danny groped for his arm, and Steve was content to let him claw and scratch if it helped. He called in his location and the 1013.

Leaning over Danny again, Steve cradled his jaw and cheeks firmly in his hands, keeping his head and neck immobilized until the paramedics arrived. He shimmied on his knees through the shards and sparkles of glass and stared into Danny's watery eyes. "Try to be still, _brah_, and keep breathing. In an out."

"Besides the blinding agony, are you good?"

Danny opened his mouth to speak but wheezed pathetically. Steven shook his head. "That was rhetorical, dude. You know how you love to rant and rave about the most innocuous things in the world? Like my choice of music of the awesomeness of New friggin' Jersey, I feel one of those rants comin' on right now…" Danny's eyes fluttered a little, rolling back. "Hey, none of that. Stay with me, Danno. Grace…doesn't she have a talent show in a few weeks? You got hang around for that, right?"

The detective's eyes opened wider at the mention of his daughter. He saw the firefighters peer through the window and order him off the narrow scaffolding. Steve smiled at Danny, who struggled to focus on him. "Grace needs you, Danno, keeping fighting for her."

Steve squeezed his partner's bloody arm before tearing himself away to let the firefighters work.

-5-0-

The world shrank to a tiny realm of unendurable pain, blinding lights and strange, probing hands touching and pressing and examining. Danny couldn't remember why his chest hurt or even where he was. He just knew that he was so utterly tired and the pain and white-hot lights wouldn't let him sleep.

He couldn't turn his head and he tasted blood and he was petrified.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he wondered what he'd have to do to leave this horrible place, and return to the sandy beaches and random rainbows of Hawaii. It was colorful and vibrant and smelled like flowers and coffee and he could take Grace to school and help her with her book reports.

"Detective Williams, can you squeeze my hand?" A rubbery-slick hand patted his. "Danny, squeeze my hand."

He did so, hoping he could go to sleep.

"Good, sir. Really good. Now, can you open your eyes for me?"

He was too tired to try and the searing light was surrendering to the peaceful, painless black and Danny was sinking away from the torturous pressure and the stoic voices making requests.

The same slick hands were palpating and suddenly there was an abrupt, tearing fire in his gut that pulling a guttural cry from him, and his eyes flared open. Peculiar fuzzy shapes replaced the dark, and the lights were brighter than ever. Danny reached out again, fingers groping for whatever was there before, but he clutched only air. The world opened up a bit to include intense nausea and lightheadedness and the worst migraine of his life.

"Sir, can you tell me if this hurts?" More hands on him, more shredding pain, more screaming.

Strange eyes appeared over him and he sought them out, wanting answers to questions he couldn't form. "Danny," the voice was soft and feminine, "we're worried about some bleeding in your belly and a possible bruising to your heart. We're going to give you some medicine so you can rest, and we'll put a tube in to help you breathe, and we'll have answers for you when you wake up."

He licked his lips, needed to speak, but his arm tingled pleasantly and the pain dissolved, taking this strange world in its wake.

-5-0-

Steve stood sentry outside of the trauma room, arms crossed and face blank. He watched as the nurses and doctors swarmed over his partner, cutting off his clothes, inserting IVs and attaching leads. Danny was barely conscious, immobilized on a backboard and c-collar, but his toes curled and his hands clenched from confusion and the torture of being examined. The floor beneath him dipped and swayed when the doctor forced a tube down Danny's throat with a violence that was never depicted in those medical dramas on television.

But Steve hadn't joined the Navy by chance and he had been trained to deal with rocky, uncharted waters. He closed his eyes, regained his equilibrium and continued to watch, to offer silent support.

"Commander McGarrett?"

"What?"

There was a soft hand on his arm. "You need to come with me, sir."

"I'm not moving until he does," Steve replied coolly.

"With all due respect, sir, you are."

There was a brisk tug on his arm, and Steve McGarrett, Naval Commander and former SEAL, teetered off-balance. He blinked as the hospital hallway rolled like molasses and his stomach wobbled with acid. The nurse pulled him into a small room and pushed him down on the bed. Steve gazed stupidly at his hands, sticky with dried blood, wondering why they were shaking so violently. Steve watched as she wiped his hands and arms clean and uncapped a bottle of Gatorade. He was a little embarrassed when she had to steady it so he could take a few cool, sugary sips without spilling.

"Adrenaline dump and shock. You need to be flat for awhile, Commander." The nurse answered softly. "Your partner is right through those doors, if anything happens, I'll let you know."

"Can you tell me anything now?" Steve looked at her, eyes pleading in ways words couldn't.

He could only see her as an amalgamation of pleasant features: supple lips, pin-straight raven hair in a pristine ponytail, dark eyes and olive skin darkened by the sun. And that right there told him he was a more than a little shocky.

"It's still too early. They're worried about head injuries and broken bones from the fall, and also myocardial and pulmonary contusion and internal bleeding from the GSWs. I know the intubation looks awful, but it's just a precaution."

Steve huffed in disgust. "Going to that office today was supposed to be a precaution and my partner was almost killed."

"He's in good hands, Commander, I promise you that."

With confident movements, she put on a pair of gloves and removed Monroe's gun from his waistband, thumbing on the safety. "This evidence?"

He nodded. Shock blunted the hysteria and the urge to pummel and shoot things. Or start screaming and never stop.

She bagged the gun and locked it in the cabinet and then she unhooked Steve's own gun and holster and set them on a nearby table.

"What are you doing?" He asked when she lifted his legs onto the bed and started to remove his shoes.

"I'm going to check you out, remove the shard of glass from your leg and stitch you up."

His leg? He hadn't noticed that his tan cargo pants were splattered with blood at the thigh, but soaked through just below the knee as a jagged shard of glass had pierced the muscle of his shin. No wonder he wasn't firing on all cylinders.

The nurse moved to his left leg and untied the laces of his shoes and angled it off. Bruising discomfort shot up his leg like a rocket, and hummed hotly in his ankle. He hissed, sucking in a breath.

"Does that hurt?"

It had been a long way down to the scaffolding. "It's fine, nurse."

"_Doctor_."

"What?"

"My name is Dr. Savannah Jensen, Commander."

"Oh, I'm sorry, doctor. But really the ankle is fine."

She pulled off his sock and raised her eyebrows at the swollen, discolored joint. "Sure it is."

It was ridiculous that she was fussing over minor cuts when Danny wasn't even breathing on his own. He pushed himself up on his elbows, ready to retrieve his gun and debrief Chin and Kono and maybe put a few more bullets in Monroe's corpse…something. Steve was a man of action; and he needed to be busy. He didn't care about his ankle or the shard of glass protruding from his leg.

Dr. Jensen leveled him with a glare. "I've dealt with a lot of tough guys who come in through here and try to deny that they're hurt or refuse medical care because they've watched _Rambo _one too many times. The only thing is it never works out well for them, and they end up stuck in a bed anyway. Please tell me you are not one of those guys."

Steve eased back onto the bed. "Of course not."

She smiled. "Good. Didn't think so."

-5-0-

It had been a mind-numbingly chaotic night of terror, debriefings with HPD and the governor and waiting for Danny's prognosis. Steve had only stopped home for a shower and a change of clothes. He ventured up the white brick driveway of Rachel and Stan's mansion the next morning, scrubbed a hand over his face in a fruitless attempt to wipe away any traces of exhaustion and guilt and rage, and try to find the energy to smile for Grace. While Danny's daughter no longer associated him with the shooting at the football game, she still didn't seem to like him very much. Rachel answered the door in sundress with Grace a few feet behind her in her school uniform and pigtails.

"Good morning, Steve." She greeted, a little confused. He arched behind him, searching for her ex-husband.

Steve managed a wobbly grin. "Morning, Rachel. Hi, Grace."

"Hello, Commando." She sang, giggling behind her hands.

Steve smiled genuinely. Kids were so weird. "I'm brewing a pot of coffee if you would like some, you look like death warmed ov…" Rachel trailed off, hospitable cheer fading from her face. "Grace, go get your backpack. Now." Grace darted away.

Rachel backpedaled from the door, shaking her head as her breath clamored through her. "No, no, no, no…Steve, please…"

"Rachel, calm down." He stepped into the house and gripped Rachel firmly by her shoulders as she swayed. "Look at me, Rachel. Look right here." Brown eyes met his, already flooded with tears. "He's alive, Rachel. He's alive."

She stared at him, searching his face for the truth before breaking away and stumbling into the kitchen.

Steve followed her and watched as she poured two cups of coffee and handed him one black. She added about a cup of sugar to hers and stirred the scalding liquid with her finger. "I'm not even his wife and I still have to deal with his dreadful profession," she sneered in her accented english. "How badly is he hurt this time?"

He wrung his hands and tried to remember everything the doctors had told him. He wished he had taken notes. "The doctors say he's going to be fine. It could…have been so much worse." He bit his cheek to keep himself in the present, and not back at the window's ledge, thinking his partner was dead.

Rachel's nostrils flared. "You're whacking around the bush, Steve. And I really need details so I can figure out how much to tell my daughter."

"He was shot three times and fell about ten feet through a window." He blurted out, because the image of it was playing over and over in his mind no matter how much he tried to focus on anything else. "He was wearing a vest. He's got a concussion, but no broken bones. There is some internal bleeding and a lacerated kidney, which they're watching, but they believe it will be resolved without surgery. There was no apparent damage to his heart or lungs, but they're also watching that carefully in case anything develops in the next 48 hours. He's a little banged up and cut up from the glass." He ticked off.

Rachel seemed sickened by the long list of injuries. "What does that mean?"

"It means he'll be in the hospital for four days to a week. Surgery is a possibility, but he will recover fully."

The woman Danny had married was fierce in her love of Grace's father. Steve could see it so clearly. She sipped her coffee and struggled for her next words. "…is he in p-pain?"

"No." Steve lied. He'd heard Danny screaming in the exam room.

Rachel drank her coffee. "He was at the shooting at the office building, wasn't he?"

"He saved a lot of lives." Steve replied. "I have to get back to the hospital. I will call you with any updates, I promise."

"You want to know something ironic, Steve? When Danny joined your taskforce, I was thrilled for him. I thought he'd be safer with you, but he's been hurt more in the months he worked for you than the years he spent on the New Jersey PD."

The remark stung more than the stitches in his leg or the sprained ankle aching tightly in the air cast. The members of his team were his responsibility, and yet he seemed to put them in more danger than the average officer, because of his aggressive combat training, and his vendetta with Wo Fat. Steve placed his untouched cup of coffee on the granite countertop and trudged towards the exit.

Rachel didn't stop him.

Grace was sitting on the front porch, far too quietly for the energetic eight-year-old Danny was always boasting about. Steve sat down beside her, squinting at the brightness of the sun. She sniffled beside him, red-faced and quiet.

"Were you listening?"

"Yeah, but I didn't understand all of the words. Is my daddy hurt?"

He had been trained to handle children and tell them horrible things, but Steve somehow wasn't prepared for this or the feeling of his heart breaking in ways he didn't know it could. "Yes," he said honestly. "He hurt his head and he has some bad bruises, but he will be okay."

Grace swiped her arm across her face, stubbornly trying not to cry and failing miserably. She had never looked more like her father. "Can I see him?"

"In a few days," he answered. He knew Danny wouldn't want her at the hospital. Steve didn't either. "He just needs lots of rest right now, but I know he'll call you as soon as he can. You know what, I bet he'd love if you drew him some pictures."

She lit up like a Christmas tree. "I can make tons of pictures because I just got new markers—they came in a huge bucket…and glitter pens with stickers too. Danno got me those."

"They sound really cool." He stood up. "I gotta go, Grace."

"Hey, Commando?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Can you give my daddy something for me?"

He stooped down, ankle protesting. He wasn't prepared for her to launch herself at him and hug him tightly around the neck. "He likes hugs." She said against his shoulder.

Steve stood up, hugging her tightly, and suddenly understood why Danny moved 6,000 miles to see his daughter two days a week.

-5-0-

Steve trudged through the corridors of the hospital, flashed his badge at the nurse's desk and entered Danny's room that was disconcertingly noisy with the fluttering beep and clicking of all of the monitors.

"I have no idea how they expect you to sleep with all of this noise."

It was hard to recognize his partner when he was so still, face puffed and sallow from the drugs, and scruffier than Steve had ever seen him. The gravity of the past day descended upon him with such intensity it left him a little weak-kneed—the lingering fear that Danny wouldn't be okay or even wake up, how bone-achingly tired he was, the realization that Monroe had killed five people before they'd even reached him.

Steve stumbled into a chair and dropped his head in his hands.

"Boss?" Chin Ho asked softly, entering the room with Kono right behind him.

Boss. It had always been a tongue-in-cheek joke from the beginning. "Sure thing, boss." "I'll get right on it, boss." "You're the boss, boss." He might have made decisions and barked orders, but Five-0 didn't work without the unique perspectives and knowledge of everyone. It all felt so wrong with Danny down.

"Is there anything else to do?"

Kono shook her head. "Everything's tied up for now. HPD is taking care of the back end of the investigation since they have the manpower…" she paused. "Steve, are you okay?"

_Danny was shot, three times at center mass, rocking backward, face blank with shock and pain, through the broken window. _

"No, Kono, I'm not."

"The doctor said that the sedation was lifted, but he won't be conscious for awhile. Maybe you should go home and get some sleep." Chin suggested.

Steve shook his head. "Nah, I'm good here."

Kono smiled, "That's what we thought. We have a bunch of food in the waiting room. We can't eat in here."

"Lead the way."

Steve was grateful for his team, the fact that he wasn't alone and that Danny was still fighting.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry it's been so long since I posted. I got so excited about tonight's episode (OMG, it was awesome) and I've been blogging up a storming, so I got a little blocked and a little distracted. When I was finally unblocked, the plot kind of took a turn of its own, so there will be another part after this one. Thanks so much for your patience and reviews. They are mind-blowing!

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<br>**

_Danny dreamed the same dream on a perpetually repeating loop. A villain of the worst kind, cloaked in darkness and evil swirling around him like Saturn's shot him with electric pain. Danny fell through glass and steel, convulsing from the pain and encroaching evil. The Shield of Justice was no match for the forces of darkness. Danny was weak, letting the villain kill and rape and maim while he writhed in the wind, unable to move. _

_He lay on the ledge for the thousandth time, the pain oozing from his belly to his back to his chest and throat. He needed help; he needed to fight. There was something unfamiliar about this version of the dream. The sky wasn't a sinister plane of rolling black with red tinged clouds. It was lighter, bluer. Danny clutched his Shield of Justice and pushed harder against the pain and encroaching defeat. He had done this a thousand times, but this was the ten-thousand-and-first. Maybe the trick to defeating the devil was in the details. _

_The sky was lighter and bluer, darkness giving way to the sun and plumes of a heavenly white. Danny watched as dazzling rays slicked through the murk and gloom. It was glittering and good and something he'd seen before. Instinct told him what it was, and that it was the loveliest force in the world. _

_It was Grace. _

Danny's eyes popped open to a blurry tiled ceiling, the smell of plastic and a horrible pressure in his chest, back and head. The pain was fluid, covering him like a second skin. Weak and confused, he was pretty sure he whimpered, because leaving the villain and the ledge was just trading one hell for another. His eyes were filled with grit; his mind stuffed with cotton. Reality felt brittle and dark.

"Danno, hey, man. Can you hear me? We're all here for you. Just relax and rest. Rest some more."

He fell away, darkness claiming him again.

He was climbing through levels or surfacing from the blackest ocean. Sometimes he surfaced to nonsensical shapes, dreadful sensations and calming voices.

When he surfaced for good, it was to Grace's voice, tinny and small, but real and golden.

"_Mom says you probably won't be able to make pancakes for Pancake Sunday, but maybe I can make pancakes for you or we can buy them. I just hope I get to see you this weekend and that you feel better_."

Danny turned towards the voice, but it only triggered a cleaving agony in the back of his head.

He tried to breathe through the worst of the pain, but even taking a full, cleansing breath was agony. The longer he was conscious the more his body opened up, discovered new agonies and discomforts; the more he panicked. He knew immediately that something horrible had happened. He just didn't know why, and his head hurt too much to try to remember. It was all he could do not to throw up. He thought Grace was nearby, but wasn't sure why anymore.

"Danny, hang on." A raspy voice said gently, but firmly. Hands clasped his shoulders, holding him still. "Open your eyes."

"…Grace…" Danny muttered, but it sounded like white noise.

Steve's face appeared, above him, a half moon in the shadows. He looked scared. "It was a voicemail, Danny. She's fine. I wondered if that would get you to finally wake up. Hang on and let the nurses check you out."

It got even more frenzied then, because strange faces were hovering over him, barking questions and making strange requests. He slipped away a few times, needing the refuge of the inky black abyss, but they were there when he returned. Awareness expanded and soon facts and details began to permeate Danny's slippery brain: he was in the hospital; he'd been hurt in the line of duty; he had internal injuries and a concussion. There were snatches of unmitigated terror and blood spatter on walls, but the last thing he remembered was fish for breakfast.

After a dizzying amount of scans and tests and far too much medical jargon and more sleep, Danny was blinking blearily out of the gritty hospital window, staring at the palm trees creeping over the tops of the buildings, trying not to be succumb to the fear of being pinned to the bed by tubes and monitors or the pain. It was constant—blunted by the narcotics—but barely below his tolerances.

Steve entered the room with his hands in his pockets. He walked over to Danny's side of the bed, looking worse than he felt with bags under his eyes and unusually pale complexion. His arms were crossed over his rumpled polo.

Moving his head made him want to claw his eyes out, so Danny just lifted his eyes and tried to track Steve's pacing. The former SEAL's slab of back muscles were bunched taught and he paced back and forth like an angry bull. But when he turned to finally face Danny, the emotion on his face was crystal-clear even for Danny's drug-addled mind.

"…Use your words, buddy…." Danny winced. His throat felt like he swallowed a weedwhacker.

Steve said nothing, but leaned over the bed and gingerly spooned ice chips into his mouth. The water was delightfully cold and soothed his throat. Setting the cup down, his partner got up again to pace and seethe.

"I have gray hair." He announced. The tone was eerie and calm, and Danny could only imagine the storm that was about to follow.

Danny frowned. "I hate to break it to you…but you've always had…"

"_Shut up_." Steve snapped. "I've had gray hair since I was sixteen. I found my first ones a month after my mother died. Stress and grief does odd things to the body. Did you know that? But now, I have more gray hair because of you, because you broke cover and got shot and fell through a damn window and I thought…" He whirled around in a flail that wasn't with his usual fluidity or control.

Steve sniffled and tilted his head back towards the ceiling. And Danny could clearly see the head of salt-and-pepper hair that was entirely premature and a unique, wistful manifestation of grief. Steve was only thirty-four.

"McGarrett, c'mere."

"No."

"Don't make me get up." Danny threatened venomlessly. He could barely lift his head.

His partner was more shaken than Danny had seen him in a while, and he felt irrationally guilty, because beneath the weapons training and the muscles and the hatred of Miranda rights, Steve was still a sixteen-year-old boy aching from the death of his parents, the loss of his childhood and so vulnerable he needed to fight and kill and become Jason Bourne to feel in control.

Steve reluctantly turned around and trudged over to the bedside. He sat down in the chair, head in his hands that boasted bruised and scabbed over knuckles.

"I'm sorry."

His head shot up. "You're sorry?"

Danny licked his lips. "Sorry for scaring you."

"You do that again, and I'll kick your ass."

Danny's eyes closed on their own accord, and he gripped the side of the bed to stay awake even if the pain was getting worse. "You'll try." He mumbled. "And if I played hero, I only learned it from you. You give a regular guy a complex with the medals and the uniform. Hate when you wear the uniform."

"You got shot three times, fell fifteen feet and you're alive to tell the story. Danny, you _are_ a hero."

"Superman never had tubes in his favorite place."

"Superman knew he couldn't get hurt, so he doesn't really count."

Silence spread between them, save for the beeping and clicking of the monitors. Danny was tired, but his body wouldn't let him sleep. Beyond the pain, he was uncomfortable and miserable and shaken. He'd never been hurt this badly before. He didn't want to think about it, so he did what he did best. "I wore the vest because I promised Grace. Some kid at school was running his mouth off about cops getting shot or killed. It freaked her out so much she was having nightmares. So I showed her some of my spare vests to explain to her that we were protected. She put the stickers on it, and begged me to wear it. So I put it on just to humor her."

"Grace saved your life, Danny."

He just smiled. "Wouldn't be the first time."

A flash of hot pain in his back yanked a groan from Danny before he could stop it, and his hand closed tightly around Steve's arm and pressed his face tighter into the pillow.

Steve stood up, looking alarmed. "On a scale of one to ten, how bad does it hurt?"

"_Infinity_."

"I just paged the nurse. She'll give you more of the good stuff."

Danny nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. "Did I imagine Kono feeding me ice chips? I gotta say, that might be worth getting shot. Especially if she wears the bikini."

Steve actually laughed. "Me again."

-5-0-

Danny was pretty sure he was supposed to be thankful for being alive or for not being eviscerated by surgeons or for not dying. He was pretty sure he was supposed to be spouting sonnets and waxing gleefully about the sunrises or the way raindrops splattered his window in silver. He was pretty sure he was supposed to rediscovering his faith in Jesus and wheeling himself to the nearest church, because he'd survived a horrible shoot-out that claimed that lives of five people and he'd shot the person who did it. He was certain that Steve would have signed himself out AMA and been rescuing kittens from trees or running a marathon by now.

But Danny was writhing in some aggravating state of miserable and traumatized and dazed. The pain was driving him batty, but more than that his body felt peculiar and jittery, like it remembered the ordeal even if his mind didn't. The drugs he was on made him feel blunted and stupid, and the colors congeal together. It was kind of cool.

He watched again as yet another doctor lifted his gown to check his abdomen, probing clinically at the nearly black bruises puckering on Danny's belly and chest. Looking at them made him sick, but this doctor, seemed intrigued and awed.

"The bleeding is resolving nicely. I think you dodged surgery, Mr. Williams." He listened intently to Danny's lungs and heart. "We'll get another CT tomorrow to make sure there's no pulmonary or cardiac contusions. Everything sounds good."

Danny nodded, grateful when the doctor replaced his gown and blankets. He shivered a little as he tried to push himself up with strengthless arms. "When can I go home?"

The doctor scribbled on his chart and flipped through a few pages. "I'm not too thrilled with your blood pressure or the fact that you're running a fever. I also want to keep an eye on your kidney function. I think it'll be at least a five more days."

Danny's eye twitched as he saw another weekend with Grace disappear. "Okay, well, when can I get out of this stupid bed?"

The physician was a little smarmy, but seemed competent enough. "We'll give it another day. I'll be here until midnight, so page me if you have another other questions. Just try to be patient, Mr. Williams."

Danny rolled his eyes and scowled for good measure. He hadn't stood under his own power in three days; he felt unclean without having a real shower and shave; but he could still leer with more fury than hellfire. The doctor left with a chuckle, which wasn't exactly what Danny was aiming for. He closed his eyes, fighting back the panic that threatened to overwhelm him whenever his room got quiet or he was left with nothing but his thoughts. He tried to remember what had happened, anything about the day, but there was nothing, and attempting it for so long made his head throbbed. He twitched with restlessness and tried to sleep instead. As a cop, he knew the drill. The more he rested, the faster he'd heal. He closed his eyes, ignoring the tug of stitches in his back and side and the pinch of IVs. As slumber began to claim him, the injured detective heard it, louder than a thunderclap but echoing in his own eyes.

_I SEE YOU, HAOLE! _

His eyes snapped open, and the beeping of the heart monitor sped up. He panted, which igniting crushing pain his chest, which trigged a dominoing of agony throughout his battered body. He didn't know what was worse—the inexplicable terror or the pain. He flailed in a moment of sheer panic, pulling the oxygen from his nose, clawing at the cords tethering him to the bed in desperate need to get _out_ and _away_.

-5-0-

Steve moved through the hospital halls with a comfort that had nothing to do with his time as a SEAL. Born a natural daredevil, he'd spent much of his youth in the bank of ER chairs next to the vending machines with a broken arm or bloody face. He could still his see mother pacing in front of him, shrilly and profanely scolding him for God and the entire ER to hear for doing backflips off the roof on a dare or diving off the bluffs and for fun. Years ago, his mother's braying love for him chaffed the badass teenager, but Steve ached for it the second he knew he'd never have it again. After fifteen years and Danny's near death, he appreciated her position so much more.

"How's the leg, Commander?" A familiar voice questioned from beside him as he reached the elevator.

Steve looked down to see Dr. Savannah Jensen standing beside him. She was wearing pink scrubs and a pleasant smile. "It's fine." She was prettier and shorter than he remembered.

"I'll bring some icepacks to Detective Williams' room. Maybe you'll actually use them. I can check your stitches, too."

And she was just as shrewd. He huffed a laugh as he stepped onto the elevator and hit the number for Danny's room. "I know better than to fight you, Dr. Jensen."

"Good boy. How's your partner? I haven't had time to check on him."

They exited the elevator, and ventured down the hall towards Danny's room. "He's hangin' in there. I'm surprised he hasn't driven off a few of your nurses. He's a bit of a pitbull…"

The alarm blaring didn't alert Steve, but Dr. Jensen sprinted down the hall like she was on fire, as did a three other nurses. His heart didn't plummet into his feet until the party darted into Danny's room. Steve bolted down the hall, hearing the drone of the flatlining heart monitor before he skidded just outside of the doorway. He'd expected to see rib-breaking CPR or even Dr. Jensen calling time of death. It had been days, but Steve still couldn't quite absorb that Danny was alive and recovering from his ordeal. Inside the room, Danny was sitting up under his own power, sweating profusely, but muttering to the nurses and trying to get out of bed. His fingers tore off the remaining two leads on his chest.

Savannah grappled with him a little longer, trying to get him to calm down without hurting him, but Danny was far stronger than he looked and shoved her away with more strength than he probably realized. Undeterred, Savannah dodged his grabbed his grabbling hands as they pulled at his second IV. Steve had seen enough.

It was two large strides to Danny's bedside. He slipped in between the nurses, and grabbed Danny's chin, forcing the man to look at him. His striking blue eyes were clouded, pupils slightly mismatched. "Danny, it's Steve. What's going on?"

Danny's lips were pale and bloodless and he twisted the sleeve of Steve's shirt. His muscles were clenched and bunched as he vibrated like a tuning fork. But he didn't speak.

Taking advantage of distraction, Savannah angled around Steve and reattached the heart monitor leads and blood pressure cuff, checking the readings on the monitors. The flat tone gave way to a frenetic beeping of his elevated heart rate.

Steve's impatience turned concerned anger. "You spend 21 hours of your day constantly talking and now you go mute? Tell me what's wrong, Danno. Right now."

"'_I see you, haole_.'" He whispered.

Steve's heart broke and he hung his head for a beat before grabbing Danny's eyes again. "You remembered?"

Danny's head wobbled in a jerky nodded. "I fell."

The nurses were buzzing around, but Steve didn't care.

He focused on his partner and friend. He gripped his shoulders and gingerly pushed him flat. "Do you remember shooting him in the face before that?"

The heart monitor was slowing in its urgency, and Savannah placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. "…the neck…"

"That's right. And I emptied my clip into his head. He's more than dead, Danno."

"…you sure?"

"He's not Hesse…but I checked. A lot. I could have some pictures taken if you like." Steve offered.

Danny's lips twitched, "poster-sized for my office, maybe some wallets."

"I hate to interrupt this heartfelt conversation, but Danny's doctor is here and he wants to run a few tests, make sure he's okay."

Steve ignored her and regarded his partner again. "Do you want me to stay?"

Danny's eyes were swimming with exhaustion and he waved his hand weakly towards the door. "Pretty sure this…is gonna be an ass-out situation. I'm good, Steve."

"Liar."

Dr. Jensen walked with Steve to the nearest waiting room. He flopped into the closest chair, and ran his hands through his hair. "This is the second time I thought he was dead in three days. I think he's doing this on purpose, paying me back for the car chases and the shark tank."

"I think he's going to be just fine, Commander. We'll see what the tests indicate, but I think it was just a combination of remembering what happened to him, the concussion and the painkillers. He's a fighter."

"I feel like I failed him. Like him getting hurt was my fault."

Dr. Jensen, a woman who was all pretense and protocol, sat down beside him and rubbed his back soothingly. "In my experience, all good partners do."


	4. Chapter 4

This is the final part. Thanks so much for all of the alerts and reviews!

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Danny believed that everyone had ghosts—phantoms of memories, emotions or happenings that haunted them. It wasn't a bad thing. It wasn't always a good thing, either. But it was important. His ghosts were responsible for the person he was today, and he was grateful for them. He thought about those things that haunted him on the way home from the hospital. It was better than contemplating the long recovery he had ahead of him. The weeks of riding the couch and then the desk and then light duty where those ghosts would only be all the more powerful.

He thought about the high school basketball coach he had in high school, who laughed at him for his desire to be on the team during the painful and draining journey from the car to Steve's couch. He thought about how he'd made the team by sheer tenacity and the satisfaction of shaking the coach's hand when he was named MVP while he swallowed a half-dozen horsepills with his soup.

He thought about what ghosts he cursed Grace with having a lifer cop as a father while he watched Steve swim from the dry serenity of the beach.

"You've been quiet," Steve said as he puttered around his father's house.

Danny shrugged. The doctor hadn't wanted Danny go home alone and Steve had instantly said that he was going home with him, as if they'd discussed it. "I don't have much to say."

"Let me note that for the record books," Steve smiled.

Danny scratched his chin, wanting a greasy pizza instead of the flavorless broth Steve had made him. "How many times have you been shot?"

"What are we comparing figures?

"Inquiring minds want to know. As a Navy SEAL of six years, how many times have you been capped?"

It was Steve's turn to shrug. "Three, not including grazes. Stabbed twice, once by a nine-year-old kid I didn't have the heart to shoot. Why?"

"Curiosity, Steven, I'm like a cat that way."

Steve stared at him, blue eyes bright in the sunny kitchen. "It gets easier. It's no picnic but once the injury heals and you get your feet back under you, it doesn't seem so bad."

"Yeah, maybe." Danny sighed.

He was trapped in his own body, and cursed with the horrors of his own subconscious the next two months. The ghosts seemed all the more powerful now. But he looked at Steve, who had been all over the world and in probably hairier situations than a revenge-thirsty ex and a bad fall, and felt pitiful, weak. Danny didn't do weak.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Danno?" Steve asked quietly.

Danny smiled. Normally, he was an open book with Steve, and everyone else in his small, but tight band of friends. But sometimes, he shutdown and got quiet. He was nearly silent those long last months of his marriage.

"I just don't like being on the sidelines," Danny simplified. "I was…a lot when I was younger, and it bothers me."

Steve's eyes narrowed.

Danny gritted his teeth and ignored his partner's imploring, searching look. Steve had always been disturbingly candid about everything he legally could be. He spoke in brief, painful bursts about his parents' murders and the missing years with his sister. He fumed to him about Wo Fat and the Yakuza, and Danny was honored that he trusted him with such heartbreaking parts of his life.

"I hide it really well, but I'm smaller than your average bear. Always have been," Danny said.

Steve suppressed a smile. "I hadn't noticed, no."

"Good answer."

"I thought so."

"Anyway, I was always sickly. I didn't just get the sniffles like normal kids; I got bronchitis, ear infections, and strep all at once. I had pneumonia twice before I was 10. I grew out it, but still…the damage was done. I was known as Bacteria Boy until I was fourteen. You can laugh if you want."

Steve shook his head. "It's not funny…or all that creative."

He scratched the side of his head. "My dad was a firefighter, and everyone looked up to him, and respected him. He's one of those big ass guys, carved out of stone, and tough as nails, ya know? I always wanted to be respected like that. To do something important like that. When I graduated from high school, I enlisted. In the marines."

He slid his eyes over to Steve, waiting to see the shock there or even the incredulity.

Steve knew better.

"The drill sergeants looked at me like a friggin' steak dinner, tore into me like one. I'm pretty sure half the stuff they did to me violated the Geneva Convention. I toughed it out just like I toughed out football coaches who called me Rudy, and girls who didn't want a boyfriend smaller than them. I fought for it like I fought for everything in my damn life. And then two days before finishing basic, I _cracked_. 'Til this day, I don't even know what happened, how it happened. I just knew that I ended up in a bus station outside of South Carolina, begging my mom to pick me up. I never quit anything in my entire life."

Steve wasn't sure how he should respond. Danny's unfettered hatred of all of the armed services always seemed a little extreme for a man who proudly wore a badge, but he'd never imagined that it was because Danny had enlisted. "That's not fair, man."

"I mean, it's fine. I went wild for a year…sowed a whole field of oats, became a cop and met the mother of my child. It made me who I am just like the navy made you into the armed freakshow you are. I just…I don't like being down and out, ya know? It makes me feel…like Bacteria Boy all over again," Danny sighed.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't sound like my partner." Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've been in the military since I was 16, Danny. I graduated from Annapolis at the top of my class and went directly to the Navy, and I'd been climbing the ranks ever since. I've been trained by the best of the best _in the world_ and I'm not scared of much, but somehow your stupid ass has followed me into some pretty awful situations. You never missed a step, so what does that say to you, Danno?"

"The Navy really needs better training techniques?" Danny fired back as the realization bloomed in his eyes.

"Try the marines lost one of their best. I don't want to hear shit like that come out of your mouth ever again. You're not on the sidelines…as long as you're in Five-0, you never will be."

Danny nodded, more than touched and a little speechless. He braced himself against the table, preparing for the painful process of standing up. "Let's get this damn walk over with before I keel over."

They were six steps from the beach when Danny's cell phone rang. It was Grace's school. "This is Danny Williams," he greeted. He heard a high-pitched keening in the background.

Her screams were so loud that he pulled the cell away from his ear; that Steve whirled around. Even as his heart began to race, pumping pain to the deep bruising. Gritting his teeth, Danny snapped at Steve, swiveling painfully in the sand.

"I'm afraid Grace is a little upset. Some of the kids mentioned the father-daughter picnic in class today and she lost it."

"Yeah, I hear her. Tell her I'm coming right now."

Danny thanked every god he could remember that Steve was quick on the uptake. He'd already sprinted ahead of him and was gunning the engine to Danny's Camaro before Danny had even reached the house.

It was twenty tense minutes of potholes igniting pain mostly dormant from the painkillers and sirens before they reached Grace's school.

Steve literally pushed Danny up the stairs and he shuffled gingerly down halls that were longer than he remembered. Grace was in the guidance counselor's office and by the time Danny had got there, she was throwing a travel mug across the room after already having destroyed the rest of the small office. The counselor's desk was empty, save for a framed picture and a paperweight, and all of the papers and files were tornadoed on the floor. His child was red-faced and so angry that she was beyond words. Danny hadn't seen her like that since the divorce.

"Grace Abigail Williams, what the hell are you doing?" Danny shouted over her keening.

Grace, all wet cheeks and messy pigtails, turned around and gaped at her father. Her little chest heaved as she nearly hyperventilated. Danny pushed into the room, ignoring the flustered counselor and dropped to his knees, not caring how much it hurt. Grace glared at him. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." Danny said confidently. "You're just mad. Tell me why you're mad."

Grace paced, clinging audaciously to her anger just like her father. "Bad guys hurt you and they wouldn't let me see you! I told Mommy that I wanted to see you, and she said no over and over. And I didn't know why or…how bad it was…like last time." She hiccupped.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. I thought you'd be scared to see me in the hospital."

"Mommy was crying for two days, and she wouldn't let me come. And I thought you left like Grandma, and that they didn't want to tell me because I was a kid."

"I made a mistake, Grace." Danny beckoned her closer, heart breaking. "Danno made a mistake. Even dads makes mistakes. You don't come with a handbook. I just wanted to protect you."

Her little hands were balled into fists. "I'm old enough to know when things are bad, Danno."

"You're right. I just made a mistake. Do you forgive me?"

"_No_."

He reeled her in anyway, hugging her as hard as he could like he had when she was a baby. "You will. You know I couldn't take it if you didn't."

"I don't hate you, Danno."

"I know, monkey."

He pulled back, swiping Grace's cheeks with his thumbs and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Now I need you to pick this stuff up and apologize to this nice lady. It's okay that you were mad, but you can't break things. You know better."

Grace nodded and did as she was told. Steve lingered in the doorway, watching Danny soothe and parent.

Danny called him over, and looked a little sheepish. "If you even ask I'm going to punch you in the face," Steve said through clenched teeth. He scooped up the sniffling child. "Come on, Grace. Let's go home."

-5-0-

Steve laid low for the rest of the evening. He watched through the kitchen as Danny showed Grace his injuries and explained what happened. Steve had assumed that she'd cry or scream, but she was mostly curious and even a little awed. Danny answered all of her questions with very little censoring, and Grace had finally crashed from her hysterionics. The father and daughter napped on the couch. Steve called Kono and Chin to invite them for dinner, hoping that would cheer up both the younger and older Williams.

He exited the kitchen to find Grace gently touching his box of medals on his father's desk with the same inquisitive expression Danny wore when he arrived at a crime scene. Grace's hair was a dark honey color from the sun, and still a little mussed from sleep. She looked alarmed when Steve entered the room. "I was just looking," she whispered, crossing her hands behind her back.

"It's okay." Steve smiled, and picked up the box and sat Indian style on the floor. He opened it, and pulled them all out. "I got these in the navy."

He placed his Silver Star and Medal of Honor in each one of her tiny hands. "Wow, they're pretty."

"Yeah, I guess they are."

"Why did they give them to you? Did you save people from bad guys?"

"Basically, yes."

Grace's eyes glittered and she looked at him in a way she never had before, and then back down at the medals clutched delicately in her hands. "Does Daddy get one?"

She looked up at him with an innocence Steve had forgotten existed. "Um…you want to give him one?"

Her head bobbled forward frenetically, and Steve may have melted. "Let's give him one then."

-5-0-

It took a ridiculous amount of coordination and secrecy to plan a surprise for a seasoned detective who didn't understand boundaries with an ex-wife who hated his profession. Thankfully, it all came together a month after Danny's release from the hospital when he was mostly pain-free and regaining his energy. Danny had walked into the Steve's house after a doctor's appointment. Kono laughed when he heard Danny barking Steve's name from the patio.

"Now I know what you were complaining about, boss."

Rachel grimaced primly. "I was married to him for nine years," she said with a smile.

"You win," Chin said.

It was just a minute later when Danny emerged from the house finally back in his dress slacks and shirts. He executed a perfect double-take, seeing Steve, Chin Ho, and Kono in their dress blues; Rachel and Grace in dresses. Danny shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is this an intervention? Steve, I told you I'd go back to my apartment tomorrow." He seemed nervous.

Grace stepped out of the line of Danny's friends and family and pulled him over, directing him to the perfect spot. The sun blared over his shoulder and the rush of the nearby ocean was almost deafening. Chin gave the Hawaiian blessing, like he had at Kono's graduation, and it was then that Danny understood. Steve could see it. His eyes brightened and his chest puffed out slightly. Steve walked over to Danny with practiced military precision. He lifted a box containing his own Medal of Honor, and opened it, presenting it to his partner. "This medal is awarded for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against any enemy of the United States," he recited. "Detective Daniel Williams, you are hereby honored with his medal for the honorable acts committed in the line of duty."

Steve placed the medal around Danny's neck, over that ridiculous tie, and saluted him.

Danny's eyes were shining and his lip was trembling as he saluted him back. "Steve, this is yours," he whispered.

"It's okay, Danno. I've got two more." He winked.

-5-0-

The celebration ended with a barbecue and a few beers and Danny beaming so brightly. The medal around his neck was a ridiculous, but beautiful gift. He wanted to give it back, because he knew whatever unspeakable things Steve had done to earn it wouldn't even compare to what Danny had done, but he knew that doing so would be an insult. And it meant more to Danny than all of the gold in the world. His fingers brushed the bronze star around his neck again as he said good night to Rachel. "Thanks so much for coming."

"It was no problem, Daniel. It was selfish, actually, I just wanted to see you healthy again. And I probably owed Steven."

He spread his arms wide, turning around for good measure. "I went to the doctor today. I'll be cleared for duty in three more weeks. Lungs are fine; kidneys are fine; heart is fine. All organs are…in tip-top shape."

"That's wonderful."

"Ha, you managed to pull that off without a touch of sarcasm. Good for you." Danny drummed his fingers on the door. "Look, I know that this brought back some stuff…from when I got shot the last time, and I'm sorry about that. That was the beginning of the end of us."

"I am, too."

Grace bounded up to her mother and father, hyper from too much sugar and excitement. "Do I really have to go? Kono's going _night-surfing!_"

"Yes, Monkey, you have to go, and even if you didn't, you're not going night-surfing. Kono shouldn't be doing it either. I might have to arrest her later." He said with a laugh. He picked her up. "Thank you so much for my party. I loved it, babe."

"You're welcome." She kissed his cheek and hugged him tightly. "You're my hero, Danno, like better than Batman."

No, Danny didn't believe in superheroes, but his daughter did and that was just fine with him.

**Fin**

* * *

><p>Author's Note: A few people have mentioned to me how rare and what an honor it is to get one Medal of Honor. I did do research and I am aware of how rare it is and how it is probably impossible for anyone to get more than one. I took a little artistic license with it for two reasons: 1) That's the medal I saw Danny get in my head and 2) it's a television show. As awesome as the SEALs are, I don't think one of them could pull off half of the things Steve McGarrett does on the show. Television shows take place in a heighten reality, and I try to bring that into my fiction. Thanks!<p> 


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